


The Market

by lusteralliance (orphan_account)



Series: Demon!Byleth [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ashen Demon, Demon!Byleth - Freeform, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, WIFI TROUBLES SO IM SORRY IF SMTH COMES OUT WRONG, byleth is peak gremlin rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 08:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20373991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lusteralliance
Summary: Jeralt has to take Byleth with him to his routine trip to the village marketplace, andgoddessdoes he not want to.





	1. I

"Mm..." Byleth mewled as Jeralt cleaned his face, sticking his tongue out when the rag the mercenary used brushed his mouth. "Peh!"

"You need to be clean if I'm going to go to the village with you," Jeralt told the little boy sternly. Byleth was perched on his knee and clawing at his armguards while Jeralt bathed him with a warm, wet towel. He couldn't stand the bathtub, which was practically in shreds now. Jeralt had to wear his armor about in the house now, because of this new, tiny threat. 

Whom he now has to raise as his son. Or risk the end of the world.

"Weh!" When Jeralt moved his hand to wring the rag of its dirty contents, Byleth launched himself into Jeralt's arm, gnawing on his elbow. 

Jeralt glared into the demon's bestial black eyes and pointed at him sternly.

"No."

Byleth's eyes turned blue, and he clambered off and sat quietly on Jeralt's leg.

"You better not go all crazy on me when we're in public, because people will get suspicious. You have to wear a hat." Jeralt looked around for one, rubbing Byleth's antler buds with his thumb as he did so.

He'd had Byleth for about two moons, and he already considered giving him up for adoption three times now. The first was just in general, the second was when Byleth got so upset he didn't get a cookie he cried blood all over the wooden floor and Jeralt spent the entire day cleaning it, and the third was when Byleth nearly tore his prized sword's wooden hilt to ribbons. 

In other words, Jeralt hated the idea of fatherhood even more than he did before. 

He spotted a small white cloth hanging on the dish rack and hoisted Byleth up into his arms, walking over and sitting him by the basin. Byleth sucked on his thumb absentmindedly (he seemed to have wild mood swings) as Jeralt folded the cloth and tied it carefully over Byleth's head and behind his ears. He neatened the child's turquoise hair and cocked his head, stepping back to look at him.

Byleth looked like a tiny old woman with a head bonnet, selling radishes behind a small stand in the market. Jeralt turned his head when he snorted in amusement, and Byleth pouted and yanked at Jeralt's braid.

"Hey!" the man spat, and he pried Byleth off of him. "Don't pull!" Byleth bared his little fangs, kicking in the air. Jeralt sighed as he scratched the back of his head. "Okay, okay, sorry for laughing. But no pulling my hair!"

"Hmph," huffed Byleth. That was about as close to human language as he'd gotten so far, and Jeralt couldn't help grinning a little.

"Okay, let's go. Be quiet."


	2. II

"Hey! Stop right there!"

Jeralt turned around, Byleth's bonnet brushing his chin. The shopkeeper from the store he had just left was running towards them, his face red with anger.

"Hm? Me?"

"Yeah, you! Don't act innocent with me!" The shopkeeper pointed at Byleth. "Your kid stole one of my rolls!"

Jeralt flinched and tipped his head to look, and Byleth was huddled against his chest and gnawing on a pastry the mercenary hadn't seen him grab.

"Byleth!" he hissed, grabbing it out of his mouth, and the second the child's eyes turned black, he put it back in and laughed nervously at the shopkeeper.

"My apologies, really. I had no idea. How much was it?"

"Fifteen."

"Fif—" Jeralt, dumbfounded, debated dropping Byleth off at an orphanage again. _Fifteen?_ The fruit he'd bought from a street stand cost half that amount! "Sure thing."

He only had just enough to buy one new shirt after his disgruntled transaction with the shopkeeper. He waved goodbye and apologized and turned for the tailor's shop, flicking Byleth's cheek angrily.

"Fifteen! Fifteen gold, for the goddess's sakes! What kind of roll did you steal? Is there holy water in there or something?" Jeralt growled. Byleth whimpered and blood pooled on his lashes, and Jeralt quickly apologized and soothed him before continuing on his way.

He passed a small shop crammed between a sweets parlor and the tailor's shop, the wood it was fashioned out of dark and rotten-looking. The door was small, too, with an even smaller window. Over the window was a plaque, reading, "Fortunes Told Here," and behind the window was a pair of green eyes. They stared into Jeralt from the darkness within the shop, unyielding, unblinking.

Jeralt walked past it and entered the tailor's shop, a shiver running down his spine. That madwoman was someone he had no patience to handle today. 

"Hello, Jeralt! Ah, I see you've got yourself...a child!" Sara, who took the measurements for her father, the tailor, beamed. She got up from her seat by the window and walked over in the crammed shop, which smelled of fabric and moth balls, and Jeralt took Byleth's free hand and waved it a little in front of him.

"Say 'hello,' Byleth!"

Byleth stared blankly at Sara, chewing on his food, and Jeralt had never felt more grateful that he did just that.

"Sorry, he doesn't talk much," Jeralt smiled.

"That's okay! He's so cute." Sara pinched Byleth's cheek, and Jeralt stiffened. "Can you say 'Baba?' 'Baba?'" He couldn't, but to Jeralt's surprise, Byleth giggled.

The mercenary hated that he felt a little jealous as Sara squealed with delight at the baby's laugh, her brown ponytail bobbing as she took Byleth's little clawless hand and shook it happily. How come Byleth absolutely despised him, but was all right with a shopkeeper he barely knew?

"What did you say his name was?"

"Oh, uh...Byleth."

"Hmm…" Sara smiled as she looked Byleth up and down. "I like it. It feels familiar somehow."

If the ashen demon was some kind of urban legend, then Jeralt would be moving to the other side of Fodlan at sundown.

"So!" Sara clapped her hands, and Byleth flinched. "Come here to buy anything?"

"Ah, yes! Let me see…."


	3. III

Jeralt placed Byleth down on the bed with an exhausted sigh, his back aching. Byleth could definitely walk, but he had seemed to be strictly against doing so in the marketplace. The sun was setting now, and Jeralt had bought fruit, milk from the nice farmer, Byleth's unbelievably expensive roll, and a single shirt. It was a disappointing haul, even more so now that Jeralt practically had no money left.

He was about to leave to deal with his purchases when Byleth clambered back onto his arm, lightning fast. Before Jeralt could shake him off, he hugged his little arms and legs around it and refused to let go.

"Hey, Byleth! Stop that!" Jeralt shook his arm a little more, and Byleth's bonnet flew right off along with its wearer. The ashen demon plopped into the blankets, and his eyes grew wide. Jeralt gasped, sweeping him up into his arms (and off of the clean white blankets) and apologizing.

"Aww, sorry, sorry," he spluttered, and Byleth sniffled and whimpered against his chest. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"Mm...Baba…."

Jeralt gasped, and Byleth puffed out his cheeks as he held back his blood tears. 

"...Baba?" Jeralt repeated, softly. Byleth looked up at him, reaching out and patting his chin with a pudgy hand.

"Baba," Byleth gurgled again, and Jeralt smiled widely, lifting Byleth under his arms into the air with excitement.

"Yeah! That's me!" he laughed, and Byleth started to giggle, and Jeralt's heart nearly burst right out of his chest. The orphanage would have to wait quite some time before it could receive a demon to care for. 

Namely, a thousand years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dhhdhd thanks for reading


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